


Mercy

by brittle_antimony



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: 1970s, Adopted Harry Potter, Alternate Universe - No Voldemort, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, James's Baby Brother Harry Potter, M/M, Master of Death Harry Potter, Time Travel, same age au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-20
Updated: 2020-09-20
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:48:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26568310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brittle_antimony/pseuds/brittle_antimony
Summary: In which the Dursleys lose a child, the Potters gain one, and James receives a baby brother.-----"You're one of the ones who leaves the plot early," Old Harry said. "Moving you won't change anything, really, except for you. I…" Harry put his face against Old Harry's shoulder. He didn't like to see people being sad. "If you're tired, though, you can stay, and I'll come back for you, and tell you all about my story until you're ready to move on."Harry shook his head, and Old Harry's arms wrapped around his shoulders and squeezed."What do you want, Harry?""Someone who wants me," Harry whispered, almost hoping he wouldn't be heard.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Severus Snape
Comments: 5
Kudos: 144





	Mercy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This first chapter includes implications of what our AU Harry went through. While effects violent child abuse, it's not explicit, and he doesn't suffer in the text. (I've been crying about child abuse cases for the past week, and I wanted to write a kinder world.)
> 
> Additionally, while this is endgame Severus/Harry and tagged appropriately, they're going to start as children, (eventually) become friends, and (even more eventually) start dating. And if you know what my WIP game is like, um, I do mean eventually.
> 
> Share 1970s music and fashion and UK trends and news stories with me!

In another world, magic punished the children born of induced love for the sins of their mothers. In another world, Tom Marvolo Riddle cast aside his humanity like a threadbare cloak in exchange for a mantle of power.

In this world, Tom Riddle travels, breaking curses. A kingsnake finds him in Ecuador and immediately demands food-based fealty. In time, he understands his mother; he almost, some nights, forgives his father. When he discovers challenges, he writes to Albus Dumbledore, who reads his letters with a smile.

In this world, Tom knows love, because the Master of Death wished for there to be such a world. Mercy was ever the domain of Death.

Myrtle Elizabeth Warren remains a flirt the whole of her life, and it seems a very long life indeed to those who keep her company.

They are not in this story, but it would not have been possible without them.

\-----

Under the blankness, Harry lay breathing. Wheeze in, whistle out, again, again, again.

Gradually, pressure replaced pain, a voice replaced silence. "Harry?"

Harry blinked puffy lids and parted chapped lips. The stranger seemed too big for Harry's cupboard, but he was blurry. When the man placed Harry's glasses on his face, he blinked again. But, no, the man looked the same. "Are you my dad?"

"I'm only seventeen," the man said, smiling gently.

"Er," said Harry. "You look really old." Because, in spite of the man's smooth face, there was something wrong with his eyes.

"I'm ancient today." No other explanation.  _ Adults, _ thought Harry.

And then Harry noticed three things: he didn't hurt anymore; the stranger was holding him; and they shared a scar.

"Just breathe, Harry," Old Harry said, carding his fingers through Harry's hair. "It's okay. Just breathe for me."

It was nice, being held. He hadn't known. No one had ever held Harry before, or pet his hair, or talked softly to him. From someone else, it might have been itchy and strange, but Old Harry was okay. He probably hadn't been held, either.

"You're one of the ones who leaves the plot early," Old Harry said. "Moving you won't change anything, really, except for you. I…" Harry put his face against Old Harry's shoulder. He didn't like to see people being sad. "If you're tired, though, you can stay, and I'll come back for you, and tell you all about my story until you're ready to move on."

Harry shook his head, and Old Harry's arms wrapped around his shoulders and squeezed.

"What do you want, Harry?"

"Someone who wants me," Harry whispered, almost hoping he wouldn't be heard.

"Oh," said Old Harry, who started to rock with Harry in his arms. "Oh. I can do that… I'll blur the details, but you'll need to remember how this life felt, okay?"

Harry felt warm and calm and safe; he didn't want to forget that. "Okay."

"There's… I lost someone today, and. I think you'll meet him when you're older. He's prickly, defensive." Old Harry paused. "He wasn't loved well."

Harry looked up at Old Harry, who had a slight furrow in his brow. "Okay?"

Old Harry rolled his eyes. "I know I sound like a nutter, thanks. Which reminds me; you won't need this."

Old Harry placed a hand on Harry's forehead. Harry felt like a magnet was pulling, pulling something from his brain and his heart and his lungs and his spine, and then he breathed in. 

Old Harry crushed his fist around something that sparked and smoked, and then was gone. 

"Be patient and kind when you can be. Be brave and good and loving. And, Harry… be happy."

\-----

Euphemia Potter held the small boy and rocked him. He looked so much like James, yet surely James had never been so tiny, so frail. He was younger, she knew, yet only the Healers had been able to give her an accurate estimate. She had thought him five or six, but he was nearer eight. 

Fleamont looked on the boy as if he might be a ghost, witness to some unknown sin, looking as distinctly Potter as he did. Fleamont’s eyes kept cutting to Euphemia, to the boy, to the wallpaper. 

The boy snuffled in his sleep and tightened his grip on her; she curled her arms more closely around him.

In the forty years of their marriage, Euphemia had endeavored to be the matriarch the House of Potter deserved; for the first thirty of those years, the title had rankled. Childless matriarch. What a mockery her body had made of her.

And then James, oh, James was her star, her shining jewel, her most beloved treasure; he was her comfort and her delight. Her happiness met its most complete form when she could inspire even a spark of joy in him, and she knew the same was true of Fleamont.

And now there was a small, sweet boy who looked like James, who was revealed by magic and by visage to be a Potter, and Fleamont worried she would hate the child, would hate her husband.

She kissed the messy mop of her youngest child’s hair and pushed back the hair obscuring his ears. She hadn’t noticed that first week, busy as she’d been feeding him, clothing him, comforting him. Such a small, precious child, how could she have done anything less?

He had the Potter knees, the Potter hair, the Potter chin. His green eyes, his smile, his cheekbones were mysteries; but his ears matched her own, her mother's, and all the long line before that.

Fleamont need not know--mysteries clawed at him, distracted him. In time, she knew that he would accept the boy was some Potter relation, unrecorded as offspring sometimes were. It was less common in his line than in some of the more stringent houses (whispers of the Lestranges’ Squib children did not bear repeating), yet no pureblood family was entirely without blight of prejudice. He could accept an unknown bastard of his father’s, or the child of an unrecorded Squib.

His mind would not relinquish this one small detail, however, which hinted of so much more, and so he would not learn it.

Only Fleamont's guilt and worry held him apart from this second miracle child, and Euphemia would do all she could to conquer it.

“Harry Constantine Potter,” she whispered, kissing the scar on his forehead. “After your grandfathers.”


End file.
